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A  Woman's  Answer 
to  Roosevelt 


A     S   T  O  'R   Y     ON 

RACE  SUICIDE 


ALICE  FREEMAN  LUSK 


LIBRARY 

OF   THK 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


— — A— — 

Woman's  Answer 

to  Roosevelt 


A    STORY    ON 
RACE    SUICIDE 


ALICE      FREEMAN       LUSK 


'** 


A  Woman's  Answer 
to  Roosevelt 


BY 
ALICE  FREEMAN  LUSK 


Fine  Antique  Paper 
Vellum  Cloth 
Price  50  Cents 


PUBLISHED  BY 

COMMERCIAL  PRINTING  HOUSE 

388-90  S.  LOS  ANGELES  ST. 

LOS  ANGELES,  CAL. 


The  Woman's  Side  of 
the  Question 

Now  that  the  Hon.  Theodore  Roosevelt 
has  retired  to  private  life,  many  of  the  ques 
tions  which  he  so  earnestly  advocated  will 
also  be  relegated  to  the  rear.  There  is  one 
question  however,  which  was  agitated  by 
the  strenuous  Ex-President  that  will  never 
be  sent  to  obscurity  because  it  is  so  essential 
to  the  welfare  of  the  nation,  and  is  a  ques 
tion  entirely  foreign  to  politics,  while  vital  to 
the  motherhood  and  fatherhood  of  our  land. 

On  the  question  of  race  suicide  President 
Roosevelt  has  been  out-spoken  and  radical, 
and  all  know  of  his  views  on  that  question. 
Undaunted,  however,  by  the  "big  stick"  it 
has  been  the  mission  of  a  modest  little  wo 
man  to  differ  with  the  able  statesman  and 
to  present  her  views  in  the  form  of  a  story 
which  has  been  called  "A  Woman's  Ans 
wer  to  Roosevelt."  We  all  know  that  a 
woman  will  have  the  last  word,  and  we 


have  also  learned  by  experience  that  the 
"last  word"  often  settles  the  question— at 
least  it  often  leaves  nothing  more  to  be  said: 
It  may  be  well  therefore  in  this— as  we  have 
given  attention  to  the  ponderous  utterances 
of  the  great  ex- President,  to  listen  to  the 
"still, — small  voice"  of  a  cultured  mother, 
as  she  endeavors  to  show  us  by  means  of  a 
pathetic  story,  the  other  side  of  the  question. 
As  Mr.  Roosevelt's  attitude  is  distinctly 
strong  and  masculine,  so  this  presentation  of 
the  "woman's  side  of  the  question"  is  as 
delicately  feminine  and  refined.  As  the 
author  says  in  the  preface,  "A  man,  great 
and  good  though  he  may  be,  rarely  under 
stands  a  woman's  life  and  heart."  In  the 
garb  of  a  touching  story,  the  argument,  if 
we  may  call  it  so  — wins  its  way  to  the  heart 
of  the  reader,  compelling  attention  and  gain 
ing  assent  to  the  many  womanly  lessons  it 
teaches.  Nor  can  we  fail  to  note  the  dis 
tinction  between  the  two  men  of  the  story, 
the  selfish  thoughtlessness  of  the  one  as  com 
pared  to  the  tender  helpfulness  of  the  other 
as  related  to  his  wife  and  family.  No  hus 
band  can  read  this  book  without  profit,  nor 
can  any  true  woman  fail  to  be  benefitted  by 
its  teachings. 


"1  highly  commend  the  story  entitled,  'A 
Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt,'  to  all  peo 
ple.  Its  literary  value  is  high,  its  moral 
tone  excellent  and  is  such  a  story  as  only  a 
noble-minded  and  sincere  soul  could  write. 

"I  would  like  to  see  a  copy  of  it  in  every 
American  home  and  am  glad  to  speed  such 
a  message  to  the  American  people." 

—Bishop  Robert  Mclntyre,  D.D. 

"Every  man,  woman  and  child  should 
read  this  book." 

—Louis  Weber,  M.D. 

"It  will  be  found  to  be  entertaining,  de 
lightful  and  wholesome  reading." 

—Los  Angeles  Times. 


Published  by 

Commercial  Printing  House 

388-390  S.  Los  Angeles  Street 

Los  Angeles,  Cal. 

1908 


A  WOMAN'S  ANSWER  TO  ROOSEVELT 


A  WOMAN'S  ANSWER 
TO  ROOSEVELT 

A  STORY  ON  RACE  SUICIDE 


ALICE   FREEMAN   LUSK 


(Jsz* 

wc 

Hog 


Copyright,  1908,  by  Alice  Freeman  Lusk 


1822S2 


"I  highly  commend  the  story  entitled,  'A 
Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt/  to  all  people.  Its 
literary  value  is  high,  its  moral  tone  excellent 
and  is  such  a  story  as  only  a  noble-minded  and 
sincere  soul  could  write. 

"I  would  like  to  see  a  copy  of  it  in  every  Ameri 
can  home  and  am  glad  to  speed  such  a  message 
to  the  American  people." 

Robert  Mclntyre,  D.  D. 

"Every  man,  woman  and  child  should  read  this 
book." 

Louis  Weber,  M.  D. 

"It  will  be  found  to  be  entertaining,  delightful 
and  wholesome  reading." 

Los  Angeles  Times. 


'This  little  volume 

I  lovingly 

dedicate 

to  my 

Father, 

John  Freeman. 


AN    ANSWER 

To  Dr.  Henry  Van  Dyke's  "O,  Who 

will  Walk  a  Mile  with  Me?" 

Yes,  dear,  I'll  walk  a  mile  with  thee, 

Along  Life's  varied  way, 
Thy  comrade  in  the  battle  be, 

Thy  mate  upon  the  stormy  sea; 
A  friend  to  laugh  with  thee  in  play, 

A  hand  to  wipe  the  tears  away, 
A  soul  that  knows  thy  God  and  may, 

Across  the  shore,  greet  thine,  some  day. 
— Alice  Freeman  Lusk. 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE 

The  following  little  story  I  have  written  in  the 
name  of  woman.  . 

The  women  of  America  glory  in  their  nation's 
leader.  President  Roosevelt  is  not  only  the  pride 
of.  American  manhood  but  of  American  woman 
hood  as  well.  Yet  a  man,  great  and  good  though  he 
may  be,  rarely  understands  a  woman's  life  and 
heart. 

In  the  race  suicide  question,  I  believe  the  Presi 
dent  has  been  preaching  to  the  wrong  sex.  Woman 
does  not  wish  to  slip  her  shoulder  from  under 
neath  the  wheel  of  God-given  responsibility. 
Jesus  Christ  lifted  her  from  the  darkness  and 
hopelessness  of  the  dumb  brute  and  crowned  her 
with  His  recognition  of  her  equality  with  man. 
Jesus  uplifted  the  race  when  he  raised  woman, 
and  the  upward  progress  of  the  world  to-day  is 

13 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

marked  by  the  place  woman  fills.  I  believe  I 
speak  for  the  majority  of  womankind  when  I  say 
that  she  prizes  as  her  dearest  possession  the  in 
stincts  from  God  which  make  her  the  home  cen 
ter,  the  magnet  of  husband  and  children.  But 
in  order  to  satisfy  these  instincts  she  must  develop 
mind  and  soul,  she  must  keep  the  respect  of  the 
home  circle.  This  she  cannot  do  if  she  is  merely 
house-keeper  and  nurse  rather  than  help-mate 
and  companion. 

Her  life  necessarily  is  one  of  sacrifice  and  end 
less  detail  of  labor,  yet  to  the  true  woman  this  is 
sweet  for  those  she  loves  if  she  meets  with  appre 
ciation  and  thoughtful  helpfulness  on  the  part  of 
her  husband. 

How  many  look  back  to  "mother"  as  the  little 
woman  in  the  wrapper,  slight  and  worn,  always 
too  busy  with  household  cares  for  even  a  talk 
with  her  little  ones.  Only  after  the  years  have 
gone  and  the  sod  grows  green  over  the  tired,  weary 
body  is  "mother"  appreciated.  And  then  what 
a  rush  of  guilty,  pitying  thought — "why  did  we 
let  her  do  it." 

14 


Author's  Preface 

Our  American  mothers  are  the  product  of  our 
care-free,  independent  American  girlhood.  An 
American  girl  enjoys  all  the  freedom  of  her  Ameri 
can  brother,  and  only  American  character  could 
bear  the  strain  of  the  change  to  wifehood  and 
motherhood  with  the  accompanying  care  and  con 
finement. 

This  is  one  reason  for  our  divorce  court.  Girls, 
and  young  men  too,  do  not  receive  the  right  edu 
cation,  especially  at  home.  The  girl  of  to-day  is 
shielded  from  the  knowledge  and  work  that  will 
make  her  a  happy  wife  and  mother. 

With  the  best  of  training  a  wife  needs  all  the 
sympathy,  appreciation  and  practical  help  that  a 
husband  can  give  her. 

He  is  her  life  and  the  home  her  world. 

America  demands  not  crowded  homes  but  happy, 
healthy  homes  whose  character  shall  leave  their 
impress  on  the  nation. 


A    HEART    TO    HEART   TALK 


CHAPTER  I 

A  HEART-TO-HEART  TALK. 


THREE  girls  sat  before  the  huge  grate  fire. 
The  room  was  one  of  the  largest  and  cosiest  in  the 

Girls'  Dormitory  of  the  College  at  D .  It 

was  the  evening  of  Commencement  Day  and  to 
morrow  the  "triangle"  must  say  good-bye. 

Mrs.  Stone,  the  matron,  had  given  the  three  per 
mission  to  spend  this  last  night  together.  The 
room  was  Ruth's.  Florence  and  Margaret  came 
each  with  her  easy  chair,  and  now  all  three  sat 
silently  looking  into  the  glowing  fire. 

Suddenly  Margaret  slipped  down  to  the  rug  and 
laid  her  head  on  Ruth's  knee.  Moved  by  like  im 
pulse  Florence  moved  her  chair  close  to  that  of 
Ruth's,  her  hand  dropping  caressingly  on  Mar 
garet's  curly  head.  Ruth  alone  sat  immovable. 

19 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

Her  hands  were  clasped  under  her  chin  and  her 
head  rested  forward  upon  them.  Her's  was  a 
wonderful  face.  The  dark  hair,  which  showed 
glints  of  red  and  gold  in  the  sun,  waved  back  from 
the  straight  white  part,  and  was  knotted  loosely, 
Grecian -fashion,  at  the  neck.  Just  a  few  escaping 
ringlets  framed  the  broad  white  forehead.  Her 
eyes  set  well  under  the  brow  and  were  Ruth's 
greatest  charm.  One  look  into  Ruth's  eyes  gave 
one  a  vision  of  a  soul  pure  and  white,  yet  not  the 
soul  of  a  trusting  child,  but  that  of  a  loving,  think 
ing  woman.  The  mouth  was  full  and  sweet.  Not 
features  clear  cut,  on  the  contrary,  rather  irregular, 
but  marked  by  that  indefinable  stamp  of  character. 
Ruth  had  won  the  scholarship,  won  it  from  many 
ambitious  hands,  her  brother  and  sister  classmates 
— talented,  brilliant,  made  to  leave  her  impress 
upon  the  world's  thought,  so  the  faculty  said. 

Yet  to-night  she  was  not  thinking  of  her  success, 
for  her  eyes  had  a  soft,  far-away  look,  and  a  smile 
that  was  half  serious,  half  tender,  was  on  her  lips. 

Florence  surmised  her  thought  from  the  look 
on  her  face. 

20 


A  Heart  to  Heart  Talk 

"Oh  Ruth!  please  do  not  think  of  him  to-night. 
Give  us  to-night." 

Margaret's  curly  head  tilted  back,  until  she  too 
could  look  straight  up  into  Ruth's  eyes. 

"Oh  Ruth!  You  are  thinking  of  him  and  you'll 
be  with  him  always  now,  and  who  knows  when  we 
three  shall  be  together  again?" 

"Yes,  girls,  I'll  'fess  up,"  laughed  Ruth.  "I 
hope  you,  too,  will  know  how  it  is  some  day.  But 
girls,  this  thought  comes  to  me:  We  have  been 
like  sisters  these  past  four  years.  We  have  shared 
everything  together.  And  do  you  not  realize, 
if  the  tie  is  to  continue,  we  must  not  stop  now. 
The  highest  proof  of  my  love  for  you  is  that  I  wish 
to  share  this  new  love  with  you  too.  You  do  not 
wish  me  to  hold  back  from  you  the  deepest,  holiest 
thing  in  my  life?  Oh  girls,  one  week  from  to 
morrow  is  my  wedding  day.  I  have  been  praying 
all  day  for  the  wisdom — for  God  knows  I  have  the 
love — to  make  our  new  home  all  it  should  be  in 
His  sight,  praying  for  strength  to  overcome  with 
in  me  all  that  is  evil  and  to  bring  to  him  whom 
I  love  so  well  only  that  which  is  good.  I  have  seen 
21 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

so  many  unhappy  families  that  I  would  love  to 
show  the  world  one  ideal  home,  a  place  of  refuge 
and  rest,  a  quiet,  simple  home,  shut  in  with  love 
and  open  to  all  who  suffer  and  are  lonely.  Then 
Tom  has  never  had  a  real  home.  I  want  it  to 
mean  so  much  to  him.  I  want  him  to  hurry  to  it 
in  the  evening  and  be  loath  to  leave  in  the  morn 
ing.  Oh,  I  long  for  so  many,  many  things,  and 
I'm  so  afraid."  This  was  a  wonderful  outburst 
from  Ruth.  Ruth  was  not  impulsive,  as  was 
Margaret,  but  always  quiet,  sweet  and  dignified. 
Both  the  girls  were  silent  for  a  moment. 

Margaret  always  recovered  first.  "Now,  see 
here,  Ruth,  you  are  taking  things  too  seriously," 
said  she,  reaching  upward  to  pull  Ruth's  hands 
away  from  her  face. 

"Think  of  the  jolly  wedding  you  are  to  have,  of 
all  your  swell  dresses,  of  your  pretty  little  home. 
No  more  work,  no  more  drudgery,  no  more  worry. 
Oh,  I  wish  I  could  find  some  fine  young  man  foolish 
enough  to  care  for  me.  I  wouldn't  cry  over  it 
and  wonder  if  I  were  good  enough,  would  you 
Florence?" 

22 


A  Heart  to  Heart  Talk 

The  Madonna's  face  was  a  study.  They  called 
Florence  the  Madonna,  because  of  her  work  in 
the  college  social  settlement,  in  the  metropolis 

near  D .  Every  little  child  loved  her.  Her 

large  dark  eyes  would  soften  and  shine  with  love 
for  the  dirty,  ragged,  neglected  little  tots  of  the 
Eighth  Ward.  Many  a  little  head  had  nestled 
on  her  shoulder,  and  many  a  tiny  baby  hand  had 
found  a  resting  place  in  her  neck. 

"Ah,  Margaret,"  said  Ruth,  with  a  glance  at 
Florence,  "you  will  find  little  sympathy  there. 
I  am  sure  she  feels  as  I  do  about  it." 

"No,  Ruth,  not  just  as  you  do,"  said  the  Madonna 
"I  am  not  afraid.  I  shall  be  too  gloriously  happy. 
Home  should  be  a  little  piece  of  heaven,  as  mother 
used  to  say.  I  think  it  must  be.  Think  girls,  of 
a  big,  honest,  noble,  masterful  man,  whose  heart 
is  all  your  own.  Think  of  the  happiness  of  build 
ing  together  your  home,  of  sharing  alike  its  joys 
and  sacrifices.  Then,  of  some  day,"  and  her 
voice  was  as  low  and  sweet  as  the  summer  air, 
"to  hold  within  your  arms  his  child  and  yours, 
a  baby  all  your  own,  to  love,  to  cherish,  to  fashion, 

>      23  ^v 

OF  THE 


UNIVERSITY 

OF 

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A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

with  God's  help,  into  noble  manhood,  or  woman 
hood.  Oh,  girls,  that's  God's  crown  for  woman." 

Margaret  was  fidgeting,  finally,  she  burst  out: 

"Now,  girls,  look  here.  I  can  see  you  both 
settled  down  each  with  a  family  and  a  thousand 
petty  cares,  growing  old  while  you  are  still  young. 
I  tell  you,  I  do  not  expect  to  do  it.  The  man  who 
marries  me  must  have  first  of  all  plenty  of  money. 
He  must  give  me  a  good  time.  I  want  nothing 
to  do  with  house-work.  I  should  like  to  have  a 
housekeeper,  so  even  the  managing  might  be  lifted 
from  me,  and  as  for  having  a  family — no,  Madonna 
mine,  I  shall  not  be  tied  down  with  a  baby.  Think 
of  Ruth  here,  with  her  brain  and  talent,  doing  the 
drudgery  for  a  family  of  fourteen,  say!  I'd  call  it 
wicked." 

"Wait  and  see,  Miss  Margaret,"  laughed  Ruth. 
"You  will  be  envious  when  you  see  our  good  times. 
Think  of  Florence  and  me  at  our  own  firesides  in 
the  long  winter  evenings  studying,  reading,  sing 
ing,  with  our  very  own.  It  will  not  be  all  drudgery. 
Oh,  you  will  see  it  our  way  some  day." 

Just  then  the  big  clock  in  the  lower  hall  tolled 
24 


A  Heart  to  Heart  Talk 

twelve.  At  midnight  the  three  must  part.  In 
stinctively  they  drew  nearer  together.  Already 
it  was  to-morrow. 

Life  stretched  out  before  them  a  shoreless  sea; 
their  tiny  craft  bobbed  restlessly  up  and  down  on 
the  waves  and  they  clung  to  one  another  ere  they 
step  in  and  push  out.  Somehow  in  that  midnight 
hour,  the  girls  felt  the  solemnity  of  the  dawning 
new  life,  with  its  weight  of  possibilities  for  joy  and 
sorrow.  They  were  leaving  forever  the  land  of 
girlhood,  and  were  already  in  the  borderland  of 
womanhood. 

Their  arms  went  round  each  other  and  the  tears 
fell  fast. 

"May  God  go  with  you,"  said  Ruth  softly. 

"And  with  you." 


25 


ONE  YEAR  LATER  IN  RUTH'S  HOME 


CHAPTER  II 


ONE  YEAR  LATER  IN  RUTH'S  HOME. 


RUTH  darted  hither  and  thither  in  her  prepara 
tions  for  dinner.  Tom  was  to  bring  out  an  old 
friend  of  his.  Every  once  in  awhile  in  her  flights 
from  cooking  table  to  stove,  back  to  sink,  then  back 
to  stove  and  into  the  tiny  dining-room,  she  would 
stop  and  listen.  Once  she  stole  on  tiptoe  to  the 
bed-room  door,  listened  a  moment,  then  tiptoed 
back.  The  little  house  was  a  picture  of  neatness 
and  artistic  taste.  Everything  bespoke  the 
sweet,  refined  woman,  who  lived  therein.  The 
dining-room  was  bright  with  flowers  and  white 
napery,  everything  of  the  plainest,  but  in  perfect 
taste. 

Ruth  forgot  her  tired  back  in  her  exultation. 
That  morning  she  had  washed  out  table  linen, 

29 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

napkins,  doilies,  for  their  supply  was  a  meagre 
one,  scrubbed  floors  and  washed  windows,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  extra  cooking,  and  minding  baby. 
Yet  Ruth  was  not  a  tardy  house-wife,  but  baby 
had  been  sick  all  the  week  and  scarcely  out  of 
her  arms  day  or  night. 

Oh!  she  was  so  tired.  She  stopped  and  leaned 
a  moment  against  the  sink  to  rest  her  back. 

When  the  clock  stnick  six  she  heard  the  steps 
on  the  gravel  walk  and  ran  from  her  work  to  wel 
come  Tom  and  his  old  friend.  She  looked  sweet 
and  dainty  in  her  blue  shirt-waist  suit  and  spotless 
apron.  Her  cheeks  were  flushed  and  her  eyes 
bright  with  excitement.  Tom's  friend,  Jim  Doug 
las,  looked  at  her  with  open  admiration  and  glanced 
almost  enviously  about  the  tidy,  attractive  home. 

Everything  passed  off  beautifully.  Never  was 
such  coffee,  such  flaky  biscuit,  such  juicy  meat, 
so  Jim  said. 

The  evening  passed  as  pleasantly  as  the  dinner. 
Ruth  left  her  dishes  and  visited  too.  All  were 
surprised  when  9:30  struck  and  Jim  must  leave 
for  the  train. 

30 


One  Year  Later  at  Ruth's 

"I  have  never  passed  a  more  delightful  evening, 
Mrs.  Stanley,"  said  Jim,  as  he  said  good-night. 
"You  make  a  fellow  hungry  for  such  a  little  nest 
of  his  own." 

Tom  went  with  him  to  the  station,  and  Ruth 
back  to  the  kitchen  to  "pick  up"  the  dishes. 

She  had  forgotten  how  tired  she  was  in  her 
efforts  as  hostess  to  entertain  Tom's  friend,  but 
now  the  re-action  came  and  she  felt  barely  able 
to  move.  But  she  heroically  braced  herself  to 
the  task,  in  order  to  get  as  much  done  as  possible 
before  Tom  returned,  and  perhaps  they  would 
finish  together,  and  a  look  of  hope  passed  over 
the  tired  face. 

Ere  long,  Tom  returned.  She  greeted  him  with 
an  expectant  smile  which  he  did  not  see. 

"Well,"  said  Ruth,  "Jim  caught  his  train?" 

"Oh  yes,"  said  Tom,  with  a  yawn.  "And  I'm 
dead  tired.  I'm  going  to  bed,  Ruth,  these  won't 
take  you  long,  will  they?  It's  nice,  but  mighty 
tiresome,  to  play  host.  I  tell  you  I  exerted  my 
self  to-night  and  I'm  tired.  I'll  go  to  bed,  and 
don't  be  so  particular  to-night,  for  it  keeps 

31 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

me  awake  when  you  are  moving  around  so." 
With  that,  off  he  went  and  Ruth  was  left  alone. 
She  looked  about  but  saw  nothing,  for  there  was  a 
blur  before  her  eyes.  Mechanically  she  went  on 
with  her  work.  A  cruel,  persistent  thought  was 
forcing  itself  into  definite  shape  in  her  mind.  She 
tried  to  push  it  from  her,  but  no!  back  it  came  to 
mock  her.  Cup,  saucer,  plate,  spoon,  one  by  one 
passed  through  her  hands.  She  worked  like  an 
automaton.  The  minutes  ticked  by. 

Tired?  Yes,  body  tired  and  soul  tired;  hope 
dead.  For  Ruth,  a  sad  funeral.  She  watched 
beside  her  dead  ideal.  At  last  all  was  done  and 
she  stood  quietly,  her  head  bowed  in  her  hands. 
She  faced  the  truth.  The  man  she  married,  or 
thought  she  married,  was  dead.  In  his  place  was 
a  selfish,  egotistic  lump  of  mediocrity.  Little 
by  little  through  the  past  year  this  thought  had 
gained  ground  and  now  she  stood  face  to  face 
with  the  bald  fact. 

Her  one  year  of  married  life  passed  before  her 
mind.  Her  face  grew  hot  and  her  heart  heavy, 
as  she  recalled  one  revelation  after  another  of  the 

32 


One  Year  Later  at  Ruth's 

character  of  her  husband.  They  stood  out  clear- 
cut  from  the  back-ground  of  memory,  these  mile 
stones  in  the  breaking  of  her  heart.  Little  things? 
Oh,  yes,  but  of  sufficient  weight  to  crush  her 
woman's  soul. 

Even  her  wedding  day,  that  day  so  holy  and 
haloed  with  glory  to  a  loving  woman,  he  had 
touched  with  unshriven  hands.  She  was  parting 
with  her  parents.  They  stood  a  moment  in  the 
hall.  All  the  love  of  the  years  filled  the  mother's 
eyes.  Ruth  gazed  upon  the  revelation  and  an 
answering  wave  of  love  rose  within  her.  But  she 
hurried  from  those  clinging,  sheltering  arms, 
with  scarcely  a  good-by,  because  she  caught  a 
glimpse  of  Tom's  face  in  the  mirror  and  saw  just 
how  bored  and  impatient  he  was. 

Then  the  time  they  bought  their  home.  How 
vivid  the  picture  to  Ruth.  They  stood  on  the 
sidewalk  before  the  house  talking  to  the  agent. 
She  could  hear  Tom  now,  say  the  words: 

"Yes,  we'll  take  it." 

"But  Tom,  the  kitchen  is  so  dark  and  there  are 
no  conveniences  and — "  But  Tom  cut  her  short. 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

"Ruth,  I  have  said  we  would  take  it."  But  still 
she  was  not  satisfied. 

"But  Tom,  you  forget  it  is  I  who  must  spend 
most  of  my  life  in  the  house  we  choose  and — " 
But  Tom  again  interrupted. 

"You'd  better  find  one  to  suit  you  and  live  in 
it  by  yourself.  I'm  going  to  live  here."  Oh,  the 
humiliation  of  it!  Yet  Ruth  was  too  proud  to 
show  her  heart,  The  words  were  burned  upon 
her  soul  and  she  looked  upon  them  when  alone  and 
reached  out  groping  hands  toward  God.  And 
then,  those  weary,  weary  days  when  she,  too  ill 
to  keep  the  home,  employed  a  little  maid  to  help 
her.  Oh  the  endless  talk  of  finances,  served  with 
every  meal.  No  thought  or  anxious  care  for  her. 
Yet,  how  she  battled.  How  she  prayed.  How 
she  hoped  for  brighter  days.  Her  noble,  generous 
nature  struggled  to  overlook  and  to  forgive.  She 
must  make  things  different.  So  one  night  Tom 
came  to  find  a  cheery  fire  in  the  grate,  a  dish  of 
tempting  candy- near  by,  two  rockers  drawn  close 
and  on  the  stand  near  hers,  the  books  she  loved  so 
well. 

34 


One  Year  Later  at  Ruth's 

Torn  came  home  and  laughed  at  all  her  dainty  pre 
paration.  She  could  still  feel  the  sting  of  that  laugh. 
Stay  home?  Not  he!  "Come  on, put  on  your  hat  and 
we  shall  go  over  to  Fred's"  (a  friend  of  Tom's,  but 
not  of  hers),  "and  you  women  can  talk  and  gossip 
together,  while  Fred  and  I  have  a  smoke."  She 
had  failed  then  just  as  she  had  failed  tonight. 

And  then  after  baby  came — then — oh,  God! 
the  pity  of  it — 

But  here  her  thought  was  interrupted  by  a  cry 
from  the  next  room.  A  new  light  came  into 
Ruth's  face.  She  hurried  away  and  soon  returned 
to  the  warm  kitchen,  (for  Tom  must  not  hear  baby, 
he  must  never  be  bothered  with  baby)  with  the 
little  white  bundle  held  close.  She  drew  up  the 
low  rocker  and  gazed  into  the  baby  face.  The 
deep  blue  eyes  looked  up  into  hers  and  a  smile 
dimpled  the  little  mouth.  One  tiny  hand  reached 
up  to  her  face.  Something  snapped  in  the  mother's 
heart.  Hungrily  she  gathered  it  up  and  hid 
her  face  in  the  baby  neck. 

"Oh,  baby!  baby!  she  sobbed.  My  baby,  my 
baby!  God  help  me!" 

35 


THREE  YEARS  LATER   IN 
MARGARET'S  HOME 


CHAPTER  III 


THREE  YEARS  LATER  IN  MARGARET'S 
HOME. 


THERE  was  no  sound  in  the  room  save  the  tick 
ing  of  the  doctor's  watch,  and  the  heavy  irregular 
breathing  of  the  little  sufferer.  On  one  side  of 
the  bed  knelt  Margaret,  her  eyes  upon  her  baby's 
face.  On  the  other  side  watched  her  husband, 
at  once  father  and  physician. 

In  another  hour  the  battle  would  be  won  or 
lost.  Unconsciously  the  mother's  lips  moved  in 
prayer,  "Jesus,  Jesus,  Jesus,"  was  all  she  breathed. 
Yet  the  Lover  of  little  children  understood  the 
petition.  He,  too,  was  watching  the  little  Flower 
and  the  Reaper  whose  name  is  Death,  and  loving 
ly  He  stayed  the  hand  that  would  have  trans 
planted  the  bud  to  bloom  in  heaven.  The  doctor 

39 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

bent  toward  the  flushed  cheek  and  tangled  curls. 

"Thank  God!  Margaret,  she  is  safe.  Sound 
asleep  and  moist  and  cool." 

Silently  he  motioned  the  nurse  to  fill  his  place 
at  the  bedside  and  very  tenderly  gathered  the 
over-wrought  mother  in  his  arms  and  carried  her 
away. 

Down  to  the  cool,  quiet  living-room  he  bore  her, 
and  in  spite  of  all  her  protests  deposited  her  on  the 
couch  amid  the  pillows  and  after  darkening  the 
room  and  kissing  her,  left  her  with  the  instruction 
to  go  to  sleep  and  not  to  stir  until  his  return. 

"But  what  are  you  going  to  do?"  she  protested, 
"You  are  as  tired  as  I." 

"I  must  make  a  few  calls  before  night,  and  now 
don't  worry  over  me,  just  rest  and  be  quiet." 

With  that  off  he  went,  and  Margaret,  ere  she 
knew,  was  sleeping  as  sweetly  as  her  baby. 

She  awoke  with  a  start,  jumped  up  and  ran  to 
the  window.  Lifting  the  shade  she  looked  out  to 
see  the  shadows  lengthening. 

"My!  Burnett  will  soon  be  home.  How  fresh 
and  rested  I  feel!" 

40 


Three  Years  Later  at  Margaret's 

There  was  a  glad,  sweet  song  in  her  heart. 
"Baby,  baby,  baby,"  ran  the  melody  in  all  the 
cadences  dear  to  mother  heart.  Softly  she  opened 
the  door  and  in  a  twinkling  was  upstairs  and  lean 
ing  over  the  little  bed. 

"Still  fast  asleep!"  smiled  the  nurse.  Margaret 
leaned  lower  and  touched  the  curly  head  with  her 
lips,  then,  after  a  few  whispered  instructions  to 
the  nurse,  she  hurried  away. 

"I'll  tidy  up  a  bit  for  Burnett,"  she  thought  as 
she  ran  to  her  room,  took  down  her  prettiest  tea- 
gown  and  with  deft  fingers  caught  up  her  hair. 

"Now  to  get  some  supper  for  his  return."  She 
laughed  as  she  looked  through  the  cupboard. 

"Dear  baby!  we  haven't  had  much  to  eat  since 
you've  been  sick." 

"I  know,"  she  soliloquized,  "I'll  make  him  one 
of  his  favorite  omelets  and  a  nice  cup  of  coffee. 
A  few  preserves  and  cookies  with  some  of  mother's 
home-made  bread  will  make  a  nice  little  lunch." 

In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it  the  white 
cover  was  laid  and  when  half  an  hour  later  she 
heard  his  step  all  was  ready.  She  took  one  mo- 

41 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

ment  to  pluck  a  rose  from  the  climber  by  the  win 
dow  to  lay  by  his  plate,  and  then  ran  to  the  door. 

How  his  tired  eyes  brightened  as  he  looked  at 
the  fresh  dress  and  sunshiny  smile.  Margaret's 
heart  filled  as  she  noted  the  lines  in  his  face  and 
felt  glad  for  the  lunch. 

"Come  out  to  the  kitchen  and  wash  up  a  bit, 
dearie,  and  then  come  eat;  I  have  lunch  all  ready 
for  you!" 

They  went  down  the  hall  together,  his  arm 
about  her  and  her  head  thrown  back  on  his  shoul 
der. 

"I  tell  you,  Margaret,  you're  a  jewel,"  said 
Burnett  as  his  eyes  rested  upon  the  dainty  lunch 
with  the  rose  beside  his  plate. 

Their  eyes  met  with  the  same  love-lit  smile  of 
courtship  days.  Burnett  always  appreciated 
things,  so  it  was  a  pleasure  to  work  for  him.  Mar 
garet  drew  up  her  chair  to  talk  while  he  ate. 

Naturally  their  conversation  drifted  to  the  little 
one  upstairs.  All  the  history  of  that  dread  disease, 
scarlet  fever,  was  gone  over,  Dr.  Hill  explaining 
and  Margaret  questioning. 

42 


Three  Years  Later  at  Margaret's 

"Her  life  hung  by  a  thread  and  a  very  slender 
one  at  that.  But  we  saved  her!"  and  in  his  eyes 
was  a  light  in  which  love  for  baby  and  love  for 
his  profession  were  strangely  blended. 

"Did  you  pray?"  whispered  Margaret. 

"With  all  my  soul,"  he  answered  as  his  hand 
closed  over  hers.  There  was  silence  for  a  moment. 

"Have  you  thanked  Him,  Margaret?" 

"No,  I  haven't,  and  I  am  ashamed." 

"Let  us  do  it  together,"  said  her  husband,  and 
there  kneeling  in  the  half  darkness  they  thanked 
God,  who  alone  has  power  to  give  and  to  take 
away. 

Three  and  a  half  years  ago,  when  they  entered 
together  for  the  first  time  their  humble  home,  they 
had  kept  up  the  old  custom  of  father  and  mother 
and  established  a  family  altar.  Ah!  America's 
homes  need  altars  to  God.  It  is  not  easy,  as  Mar 
garet  often  said,  to  be  impatient,  fretful  and  com 
plaining  after  looking  together  into  the  face  of 
the  Master.  It  is  the  right  of  every  child  to  first 
meet  God  in  the  home,  and  a  mother  knows  no 
greater  glory  when  she  looks  out  upon  the  sunset 
43 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

of  life  than  to  hear  the  words  of  son  or  daughter— 
'I  learned  to  know  God  through  you,  mother,  not 
only  by  what  you  told  me  of  Him,  but  by  your 
patient,  sacrificing,  trusting  life."  Oh!  America's 
motherhood  needs  to  sit  long  and  quietly  at  the 
feet  of  the  Savior.  Do  your  part.  Your  life, 
your  thought,  your  inclination  give  the  impulse 
to  the  lives  of  those  with  whom  God  blesses  you. 
Demand  justice  for  the  new  generation. 

Man  has  too  long  been  asleep  and  the  insidious, 
venomous  insects  have  been  at  work.  Cobwebs 
of  dollar-fame,  social-fame,  political-fame,  hinder 
his  vision.  Motherhood  is  holy  and  its  care  and 
responsibility  should  rest  upon  two  pairs  of  shoul 
ders — father's,  as  well  as  mother's. 

Margaret  and  Burnett  had  not  much  of  this 
world's  goods,  and  to-night  they  must  figure  up 
their  accounts,  for  the  expense  of  baby's  illness 
had  been  heavy. 

Margaret  went  for  the  common  check  book  and 
Burnett  took  paper  and  pencil  and  one  by  one  the 
items  were  gone  over. 

The  furrows  between  Burnett's  eyes  grew  deep- 
44 


Three  Years  Later  at  Margaret's 

er.  Margaret  watched  over  his  shoulder  with 
greater  interest  than  usual,  for  she  was  counting 
on  a  new  dress  for  Mrs.  Merritt's  reception.  The 
Merritts  lived  on  the  hill  in  grand  style  and  only 
lately  had  taken  up  the  young  physician  and  his 
wife.  This  social  prestige  meant  much  to  the  doc 
tor  in  his  profession,  and  Margaret  was  anxious 
to  appear  at  her  best. 

"We  can  make  it,"  said  Burnett  with  a  laugh. 

"Oh,  but  Burnett,  you  haven't  the  coal  bill, 
nor  the  nurse's  wages  down,"  said  Margaret. 

"No  sir!  I  haven't.  Twenty  dollars  more. 
Where's  your  dress,  Margaret?"  They  sat  in 
silent  consternation. 

"I'll  get  credit  at  Smith  &  Overton's  for  it, 
girlie." 

He  would  not  have  thought  of  it  for  himself, 
but  for  his  wife — that  was  different. 

"But,  Burnett,  we  said  we  would  never  run  in 
debt,"  said  Margaret  half  hestitating. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  her  husband,  "but  you  have 
anticipated  this  so  much  and  it  means  a  great  deal 
to  me  just  now  to  have  you  appear  prosperous, 
45 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

perhaps — "  But  his  thought  died  away  in  silence. 

Margaret  sat  with  her  head  on  her  hand.  Every 
woman  from  Eve  down  to  the  present  leader  of 
fashion  likes  to  look  well.  She  just  can't  help  it. 
Moreover,  Margaret  had  planned  her  dress,  she 
knew  every  ruffle  and  ribbon  on  it.  But  she  knew 
Burnett  would  not  have  considered  for  a  moment 
any  outlay  on  his  own  account,  though  he  needed 
it  sadly.  The  struggle  waged.  "I-suppose-I- 
could-make-my-wedding-dress-do-but  oh,  if  it  were 
only  silk,  instead  of  dimity!" 

Burnett's  heart  swelled.  What  is  so  hard  for 
a  strong,  virile,  loving  man  as  to  weigh  dollars 
and  cents  when  his  wife  is  concerned. 

He  could  almost  have  stolen  had  he  listened  to 
the  tempter,  but  iron  principle  was  part  of  his 
character  and  never  had  he  owed  any  man.  Mar 
garet,  who  knew  him  well,  understood  what  it 
would  cost  him  to  ask  for  credit. 

Burnett  opened  his  lips  to  speak,  but  Margaret 
had  gained  the  day 

"I've  decided  Burnett,  I  shall  wear  the  wedding 
dress.  With  a  little  work  I  can  freshen 

46 


Three  Years  Later  at  Margaret's 

it  and  you  will  think  me  handsome  anyway." 
"It's  a  shame,  Margaret.  If  the  Thompsons 
had  paid  me  I  could  have  managed  it.  But  there 
it  is,  you  see — they  owe  me;  that  is  my  incon 
venience,  and  their  galling  chain.  We  want  no 
chains,  eh,  Margaret? — and  after  all  dearie,  if 
the  women  you  meet  there  would  only  follow 
your  lead  and  wear  simple  gowns  they  would  be 
much  more  attractive  in  the  eyes  of  most  men,  and 
in  the  eyes  of  most  women,  for  that  matter.  It 
has  always  seemed  to  me  a  cheap  sort  of  thing  to 
make  an  appeal  to  the  consideration  of  others 
because  of  our  "real  lace"  collar,  or  "inherited 
pearl  necklace."  Wear  your  little  dress,  sweet 
heart,  and  you  will  win  out  too — You  see,  we  shall 
appear  what  we  are,  no  more,  no  less,  and  we  shall 
gain  the  respect  and  confidence  of  our  fellows, 
if  nothing  more." 

But  a  greater  problem  presented  itself.  There 
was  no  prospect  of  continued  wages  for  the  nurse. 
Burnett's  strong  face  worked.  After  the  strain 
of  the  past  weeks,  how  could  Margaret  care  for  a 
sick  baby  in  addition  to  housework,  cooking,  an- 

47 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

swering  telephone  and  office  calls,  to  say  nothing 
of  church  and  social  duties. 

But  there  must  be  no  debt!  Margaret's  face 
in  the  lamp-light  looked  drawn  and  pale. 

"Margie,  you  see,  if  you  had  accepted  that  fel 
low  with  the  dollars  these  little  hands  would  have 
known  no  labor." 

Margaret  shook  her  head  and  smiled.  "I'll 
manage  somehow,  Burnett." 

"But  you  will  not  manage  alone,  dear.  Be 
fore  I  go  we  shall  get  breakfast  and  wash  the 
dishes  and  I'll  try  to  be  with  you  while  you  are 
getting  the  dinner  to  take  care  of  baby.  And  I 
can  always  do  the  sweeping." 

Margaret's  heart  warmed  and  she  never  loved 
him  as  she  did  in  the  days  to  come  while  she 
watched  his  strenuous  housekeeping. 

Margaret  shared  the  economic  responsibility 
and  Burnett  the  domestic  care  and  the  yoke  was 
easy  and  the  burden  light. 

Not  only  easy,  but  gladsome.  Happy  days  of 
sacrifice  and  toil  cemented  with  love  and  tender 
thoughtfumess.  Sweet  to  look  back  upon  in  the 

48 


Three  Years  Later  at  Margaret's 

after  glow  of  well-earned  prosperity.  God,  for 
love  of  man,  plucked  Heaven's  most  beautiful, 
most  fragrant  flower  and  planted  it  on  earth.  He 
put  the  seed  in  two  loving  hearts  and  they  grew 
and  blossomed  into  that  most  precious  possession 
a  happy  home. 

Margaret  and  Burnett  stood  long  that  night 
beside  the  bed  of  their  year-old  baby,  mind  and 
soul  at  peace  in  the  happy  home  nest. 


49 


FOUR   YEARS    LATER    IN 
FLORENCE'S  HOME 


CHAPTER  IV 


FOUR  YEARS  LATER  IN  FLORENCE'S 
HOME. 


"FLORENCE!  it  is  half  past  eight  o'clock  now! 
Are  you  ready?" 

No  answer. 

"Florence!!  I  am  going  alone!  I  get  tired  of 
this  eternal  waiting.  The  carriage  has  been  at 
the  door  an  hour!" 

Still  no  answer. 

"Florence!!!"  With  that  into  the  luxurious 
dressing-room  strode  her  irate  spouse  to  find  his 
wife,  mirror  in  hand,  calmly  placing  a  last  hair 
pin. 

"Why  couldn't  you  answer  me?" 

"Why  should  I?     I  thought  perhaps  the  yelling 
53 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

was  amusing  you  as  it  was  certainly  amusing  our 
r  2ighbors." 

"You're  the  very  devil!  Don't  you  know  the 
Maxwells  are  to  be  our  guests  to-night  and  for 
us  to  be  late  is  not  decent!"  and  D.  Lewellyn  Van 
Sant  strode  nervously  from  window  to  door. 

At  the  mention  of  the  Maxwells,  Florence 
straightened.  Ruth  and  Margaret  would  scarcely 
have  recognized  the  haughty  carriage  of  the  head 
and  the  curl  of  the  red  lip.  Florence  was  queenly 
in  her  beauty.  She  was  gowned  in  some  soft, 
clinging  stuff  which  gave  a  charm  to  every  move  of 
her  graceful  figure.  Leisurely  she  finished  her  toilet, 
and  then  with  a  smile  turned  to  her  fuming  lord. 

"I  am  ready."     He  answered  with  a  grunt. 

Together  they  left  the  elegant  apartment  house 
and  he  very  gallantly  handed  her  into  the  carriage. 
But  once  inside,  this  show  of  courtesy  vanished 
and  their  drive  was  taken  in  silence.  When  they 
arrived  at  the  theater  there  was  the  same  courteous 
treatment  for  the  outside  world  which  Florence 
scorned  in  her  heart  but  which  she  tolerated  for 
the  sake  of  appearances. 

54 


Four  Years  Later  at  Florence's 

The  play  was  in  progress  and  they  entered  the 
box  quietly,  to  find  the  Maxwells  not  yet  arrived. 

Many  eyes  turned  from  the  stage  to  rest  upon 
beautiful  Mrs.  Van  Sant,  and  in  many  a  woman's 
heart  was  a  twinge  of  envy  as  she  noted  the  ele 
gance  and  taste  of  her  toilet. 

"That  woman,"  said  one  to  her  husband,  "has 
everything  mortal  could  wish  for.  Nothing  in 
this  world  to  do  but  to  dress  and  look  beautiful 
and  have  a  grand  time." 

But  ah,  if  she  could  have  held  in  her  breast  the 
cold  lifeless  thing  which  Florence  called  a  heart, 
she  would  have  changed  her  opinion. 

In  a  few  moments  the  Maxwells  came. 
Mr.  Van  Sant's  face  softened  as  he  welcomed 
them.  Mrs.  Maxwell,  of  course,  took  the  vacant 
chair  by  his  side  toward  the  back  of  the  box,  Mr. 
Maxwell  and  his  cousin  taking  their  places  opposite 
Florence.  Mrs.  Maxwell  was  blonde,  blue-eyed 
and  petite,  with  a  childish  pout  to  her  full  lips. 
Her  voice  had  the  half-appealing,  half-questioning 
intonation  of  a  child.  A  few  stray  ringlets,  which 
she  made  a  show  of  trying  to  keep  in  place,  framed 

55 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

the  doll  face.     The  only  thing  one  missed    was 
character,  and  after  all  that  was  quite  a  miss. 

She  leaned  confidingly  toward  D.  Lewellyn  Van 
Sant  and  in  her  low,  cooing  voice  said: 
"I  did  not  see  you  all  day  yesterday." 
"I  regretted  the  pleasure  more  than  you  know," 
he  replied,  letting  his  eyes  tell  how  much. 
She  looked  down  and  toyed  with  her  fan. 
"May  I  come  to-morrow?"  he  went  on. 
"To-morrow  is  your  wife's  day  at  home." 
Just  a  shadow  of  a  frown  passed  over  his  face, 
then  a  smile  as  he  said, 

"You  come  to  see  me  then." 
She  opened  her  eyes  to  their  widest  and  pushed 
him  back  with  her  hand. 
"Do  I  dare?" 

"Of  course.  I  shall  be  there  to  protect  you." 
Just  then  the  curtain  lifted,  much  to  Florence's 
relief,  who  though  smiling  and  chatting  with  the 
two  men  opposite  had  not  for  a  moment  lost  the 
low  hum  of  voices  beside  her,  and  she  felt  she  could 
endure  the  strain  no  longer. 

In  the  next  interval  she  must  make  an  effort  to 
56 


Four  Years  Later  at  Florence's 

take  a  part  in  their  conversation,  but  just  as  she 
turned  to  do  so  an  usher  entered  and  cleverly 
slipped  into  her  husband's  hand  a  small,  white, 
scented  note.  At  the  first  opportunity,  Florence 
on  the  alert,  saw  him  glance  over  its  contents  and 
then,  rising,  excuse  himself  to  his  wife  and  friends. 

His  wife  determined  to  watch  the  stage.  In  a 
few  moments  her  husband  returned,  and  Florence's 
quick  eyes  caught  a  look  of  understanding  between 
her  husband  and  the  brunette  understudy. 

Poor  Florence!  She  turned  to  Mr.  Maxwell's 
cousin,  a  fine-looking  young  man,  who  might  on 
first  sight  be  taken  for  Florence's  younger  brother. 
"I  need  air,"  she  said.  Her  pain  was  almost  physi 
cal.  With  superhuman  effort  she  crushed  back  the 
storm  of  emotion  that  threatened  to  overwhelm  her. 

Her  husband  heard  her  speak  and  rose. 

"Thank  you,  Lorraine.  I  shall  see  my  wife 
to  her  carriage,  she  is  not  well." 

"No,  1  am  not  well,"  said  Florence.  "I  am 
sorry  but  you  must  excuse  me.  Stay  and  enjoy 
the  play,  there  is  no  reason  why  Mr.  Van  Sant  may 
not  return." 

57 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

Mrs.  Maxwell  bubbled  her  regrets.  Florence 
scarcely  glanced  in  her  direction  as  she  passed  out 
on  the  arm  of  her  husband.  Yet  her  face  gave  no 
token  of  the  conflict  which  raged  within  her.  It 
was  true  to  its  society  discipline.  Her  lips  ac 
knowledged  her  husband's  courtesy  and  graciously 
refused  his  escort  home.  She  sat  cold  and  still 
during  the  home  drive  and  even  in  her  despair 
did  not  forget  her  kind  "good-night"  to  Peter, 
the  coachman,  and  her  gentle  inquiry  after  his 
sick  child. 

"Dear  lady,"  said  Peter,  to  "himself,  "shure  and 
she's  unhappy  and  the  Almighty  made  her  for 
better  things." 

Not  until  her  own  door  closed  behind  her  did 
she  give  way.  The  masque  worn  for  the  glitter 
and  comment  of  the  world  fell  back  and  Florence 
stood  revealed  in  all  her  bitter  misery. 

A  thousand  impulses  within  her  were  striving  for 
the  mastery.  To  kill  her  husband;  to  rush  back 
and  strangle  the  wanton  creatures  who  called 
themselves  women;  to  plead  for  the  old  love  so 
pure  and  holy;  to  end  her  own  life;  to  go  far,  far 

58 


Four  Years  Later  at  Florence's 

away  in  some  lonely  spot  where  she  might  give 
way  to  all  the  tumult  within ;  to  find  God,  if  there 
was  a  God;  to  trace  her  weary  way  to  the  little 
green  mound  in  the  city  cemetery  and  wrest  from 
death  the  one  who  called  her  mother;  or  to  lie 
down  beside  her  to  rest — to  rest — to  rest — oh 
God — to  rest — 

She  lifted  her  eyes  and  they  rested  upon  the  life- 
size  portrait  of  a  baby  girl.  The  child  was  stand 
ing,  arms  outstretched,  and  the  deep  laughing  eyes 
looked  straight  into  those  of  the  stricken  woman. 

Florence  staggered  toward  it  and  reached  forth 
her  answering  arms.  "Oh,  my  little  one!  My 
pure  baby!  Can't  you  help  mother?'*  and  still 
with  her  eyes  on  the  picture  she  dropped  to  her 
knees  before  it. 

So  absorbed  was  she  that  she  did  not  hear  a 
step  behind  her  and  was  not  conscious  of  a  presence 
in  the  room  until  two  loving  arms  were  folded 
about  her. 

"Florence,  child,  what  is   it?" 

"Oh,  Aunt  Laura,  Aunt  Laura,  is  it  you!  Oh, 
I  am  so  unhappy!" 

59 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

Gently  the  older  woman  led  her  to  the  couch  and 
took  the  tired  girl  in  her  arms,  crooning  over  her 
like  a  mother. 

There  was  no  question  asked  as  to  how  Aunt 
Laura,  whom  Florence  had  not  seen  since  her 
wTedding-day  three  years  ago,  happened  to  appear 
just  at  this  time.  It  only  seemed  right  that  she 
was  there.  Little  by  little  in  broken  sentences 
came  the  whole  pitiful  story  interspersed  with 
the  ejaculation, 

"Oh  never  tell  mother,  Aunt  Laura!  It  would 
kill  mother,  she  thinks  me  so  happy!" 

You  have  heard  the  story  perhaps  from  other 
lips.  The  story  born  in  the  rosy  glory  of  the  wred- 
ding-day.  A  glory  which  promised  as  the  shining 
dawn  a  clear,  bright  day  of  life.  The  story  of 
that  first  year,  the  morning  of  life,  so  unspeakably 
joyous,  so  holy  in  its  memories;  then  of  the  coming 
of  that  tiny  cloud,  no  larger  than  a  hand,  just 
above  the  horizon,  which  had  spread  and  deepened, 
until  now  it  overshadowed  all  the  sky  and  the  day 
was  black. 

"It  started  in  this  way,"  she  began,  "We  were 
60 


Four  Years  Later  at  Florence's 

looking  forward  to  baby  coming  and  I  could  not 
go  with  him  as  before,  and  though  I  longed  for  him, 
yet  I  felt  I  could  not  ask  him  to  stay  at  home  with 
me,  so  I  urged  him  to  go.  He  demurred  at  first 
but  at  last  gave  in.  Not  often,  but  soon  more 
frequently  he  left  me,  and  toward  the  last  was 
gone  every  night.  Oh,  those  long,  long  days 
Aunt  Laura,  shut  in  with  myself,  yet  pushing  un- 
happiness  from  me  for  the  sake  of  my  unborn 
baby.  Whispers  came  to  me  about  this  Mrs. 
Maxwell,  she  was  y9unger  than  I,  only  twenty,  I 
think.  She  had  been  a  chorus  girl  on  the  stage 
and  Mr.  Maxwell  married  her  when  her  reputation 
was  not  of  the  best,  I  grew  rebellious.  When  he 
did  stay  at  home  I  was  cold  and  distant.  Too 
proud  to  complain,  hoping  that  some  day  he  would 
ask  the  reason  why,  confess,  if  confession  there 
was,  and  put  an  end  to  all  our  misery  and  bring 
the  old  love  back  again.  But  the  day  never  came. 
We  both  grew  fretful  and  sarcastic  and  impatient 
the  moment  we  came  in  contact  with  each  other. 
One  night  I  accused  him  of  his  neglect  and  un 
faithfulness  and  he  flew  into  a  passion.  He  said 

Gl 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

that  Mrs.  Maxwell  was  only  an  old  friend  and  that 
I  was  mad  with  jealousy.  He  told  me  that  I  had 
become  cold  and  morbid.  But  even  so,  there  grew 
a  great  hope  in  my  heart  that  baby  would  bring 
about  a  change.  But  baby  came  and  although 
he  was  fond  and  proud  of  her  in  a  way,  yet  she 
irritated  him.  He  thought  more  of  his  pleasure 
than  of  her  comfort  and  of  one  hour  in  the  society 
of  that  vile  woman  than  a  pure,  sweet  kiss  from 
his  baby's  lips. 

"Then  dear  old  Mrs.  Lane,  mother's  friend, 
called  on  me,  and  talked  to  me  as  she  said  mother 
would  if  she  knew.  She  told  me  it  was  my  duty 
to  win  back  my  husband  and  to  save  his  soul. 
She  talked  to  me  so  sweetly,  she  gave  me  new 
courage.  So  I  tried  to  do  as  she  said.  I  prayed 
each  morning  for  God's  guidance.  I  wore  the 
gowns  he  liked.  I  tried  to  forget  all  his  neglect 
and  to  remember  the  old  love  in  all  its  tenderness. 
I  went  everywhere  with  him.  I  humbled  myself. 
I.  pretended  not  to  notice  his  familiarity  with  this 
woman.  I  put  him  first  and  baby  second.  Oh, 
Aunt  Laura,  so  many  times  I  have  loosened  those 

62 


Four  Years  Later  at  Florence's 

little  clinging  arms  from  my  neck  and  kissed  the 
wet  cheek  to  go  with  him.  And  then  one  night — 
baby  was  sick — her  cheek  was  flushed — her  lips 
dry  and  broken — all  day  she  had  been  in  my  arms 
— nurse  said  it  was  her  teeth  and  nothing  to  worry 
over — that  night  she  would  not  let  me  go.  Oh, 
Aunt  Laura,  I  hear  her  yet  as  I  hurried  down  the 
stairs  calling,  'mama,  mama,'  yet  I  went — I 
thought  God  meant  me  to  go." 

She  stopped  and  clung  to  her  aunt  and  moaned. 
Aunt  Laura's  tears  were  falling  fast.  "Poor  child! 
my  poor  little  girl,"  and  there  was  comfort  in  the 
words  for  Florence. 

After  a  while  she  went  on.  "When  I  came  home 
she  did  not  know  me.  Oh,  baby!  baby!  I  asked 
God  to  give  me  just  one  word  from  her  and  He 
did  not  hear  me.  She  died  in  my  arms  two  hours 
later.  I  died,  too,  Aunt  Laura.  Yet  I  tried  to 
forgive  him  even  that,  and  have  done  my  duty 
till  to-night.  Oh  Aunt  Laura,  to-night,  I  am  glad 
that  my  little  girl  is  dead,  for  she  is  his  child  as  well 
as  mine.  I  blush  to  tell  even  you."  And  then 
between  sobs  and  tears  came  the  whole  bitter 

63 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

truth.  "He  is  low  and  vile  and  wicked  and  must 
I  still  live  on  and  endure  it?" 

Now  Aunt  Laura  was  a  woman  of  the  world. 
Not  only  a  factor  but  a  leader  in  the  social  life 
of  a  great  metropolis.  She  was  an  acknowledged 
authority  on  social  propriety.  During  Florence's 
recital  the  tenor  of  her  thought  was,  "How  fortu 
nate  that  I  came  to-night." 

She  waited  now  until  Florence's  sobs  were 
spent,  tenderly  pushing  back  from  the  wet  face 
the  masses  of  soft,  dark  hair.  Then  she  said 
quietly : 

"Yes,  child,  you  must  endure  it.  You  must 
live  on  and  bear  it.  Do  you  know  that  in  almost 
every  apartment  of  this  house,  and,  yes,  of  all 
institutions  like  it,  women  are  bearing  burdens 
like  unto  yours?  The  light  for  them  is  out  and 
happy  are  they  if  they  bear  their  burdens  alone. 
Never,  Florence,  let  your  sorrow  be  borne  by  an 
other,  if  that  other  be  a  man.  I  say  it  plainly 
to  you,  little  girl,  your  days  will  be  so  lonely  and 
your  heart  so  hungry  that  you  will  cry  out  for 
human  sympathy.  But  never  let  that  cry  echo 

64 


Four  Years  Later  at  Florence's 

without  your  own  breast,  or  your  burden  will  be 
heavy  indeed.     There  is  no  human  help." 

Ah!  only  one  step  more  to  divine  help!  In  the 
rocking  of  the  tempest,  this  woman  of  the  world 
cast  indefinitely  about  for  an  anchor.  A  gleam 
from  her  shriveled  soul  told  her  that  every  ship 
which  sails  Life's  sea  carries  an  anchor,  but  her 
jeweled  hands  could  not  find  it  and  poor  Florence 
was  cast  adrift,  turned  from  dependence  upon  God 
and  the  purpose  of  her  husband's  eternal  redemp 
tion  to  listen  to  the  following  hollow  philosophy 
which  was  the  best  Aunt  Laura  knew. 
The  quiet,  even  voice  went  on. 

"Fill  your  life  with  other  things.  Learn  to 
enjoy  your  pretty  clothes,  social  events,  your 
friends.  Crowd  your  days  full  and  lose  yourself 
in  the  whirl  of  things  around  you.  Soon  you  will 
find  that  you  do  not  care  so  much.  The  old  love 
will  die  and  your  husband  will  be  simply  one  who 
shares  the  same  roof  and  gives  to  you  the  protection 
of  his  name.  Above  all  things  do  not  have  a 
scandal.  Learn  to  carry  a  bright  face  and  bye 
and  bye  things  will  not  be  so  bad." 
-  65 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

Florence  turned  her  head  away.  She  made  no 
answer.  She  dared  not  look  forth  to  the  dreary 
days  shorn  of  all  purpose. 

The  minutes  ticked  by;  both  were  silent.  The 
silence  at  last  was  broken  by  Florence's  regular 
breathing  interspersed  with  sighs. 

"I  shall  let  her  sleep,"  said  Aunt  Laura.  ''Poor 
child,  she  is  exhausted.  I  was  hard  but  I  was 
kind  too.  She  will  get  over  it."  Then  with  a 
catch  of  the  breath,  "we  all  get  over  it." 


66 


AFTER   TWENTY   YEARS 


CHAPTER  V 


AFTER  TWENTY  YEARS. 

THE  Stanley  family  were  at  supper.  At  one 
end  sat  Mr.  Stanley— bald-headed,  fat,  self-satis 
fied.  At  the  other  end  a  frail,  grey-haired,  tired 
little  woman.  At  both  sides  the  children,  five  on 
one  and  five  on  the  other,  and  beside  the  mother 
a  little  tot  in  a  high-chair. 

Ruth,  for  it  was  she,  though  you,  perhaps 
would  not  have  recognized  her,  had  not  yet  tasted 
her  meal,  for  the  younger  children  were  seated 
near  her,  and  she  must  look  after  their  needs 
first.  She  wore  a  faded  wrapper,  spotless,  how 
ever,  and  carefully  mended.  The  children,  too, 
although  their  clothes  were  plain,  were  clean  and 
well-behaved.  Maud,  a  tall,  fine-looking  girl  of 
twenty,  full  of  life  and  spirit.  She  had  her 

69 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

mother's  clear,  intelligent  eye  and  upright  carriage. 

Next  came  Tom!  just  nineteen.  Not  Maud's 
sunny  disposition  there.  Tom's  was  a  rebellious 
spirit;  always  wanting  the  thing  he  could  not  have. 
Neither  had  he  Maud's  physique. 

Next  came  Dick,  seventeen-year-old  Dick.  "Not 
very  bright,"  was  what  the  neighbois  said  of  him. 
They  were  all  gentle  with  Dick,  even  to  little 
three-year-old  Mary,  and  Ruth's  touch  was  never 
so  tender  as  it  was  for  her  afflicted  son. 

Then  Sarah — only  fifteen,  but  such  a  fine  cook 
and  housekeeper.  But  Sarah  had  a  weak  heart, 
so  the  doctor  said,  and  Ruth's  hands  slipped  under 
many  a  heavy  task  which  her  thoughtful  dark- 
eyed  girl  would  undertake  for  mother. 

Then  thirteen-year-old  Nellie.  Nellie  was  a 
bundle  of  nerves,  never  quiet,  never  still.  Not 
an  ounce  of  fat  on  her  skinny  little  body.  "Full 
of  electric  wires,"  Tom  said  fretfully. 

Next  William.  Ten  years  old.  Everybody 
loved  Willie.  Such  a  clear,  ringing  laugh,  such  a 
roguish  eye,  such  a  loving,  tender  heart.  Bright 
too.  At  school  the  teachers  held  him  back  rather 

70 


After  Twenty  Years 

than  urge  him  forward.  William  was  born  in  the 
Southland.  Before  his  birth  Ruth's  life  was  de 
spaired  of,  and  she  was  sent  away  for  a  year  with 
only  Sarah  to  keep  her  company,  returning  when 
William  was  four  months  old.  It  was  at  this  time, 
too,  that  Ruth  learned  to  know  God  in  a  deeper^ 
holier  life  and  the  nobility  of  her  thought  shone 
in  little  William's  face.  He  was  not  at  all  a  strong 
child,  for  Ruth  was  far  too  weak  to  impart  strength 
to  him,  but  a  child  of  wonderful  mind  and  spiritual 
insight.  A  mind  and  soul  fitted  to  lead  the  world 
had  his  body  been  able  to  keep  pace  with  his  head. 

Next  down  the  line,  was  Fred.  Fred  was  his 
father  over  again — looks,  actions,  disposition. 

Then  the  twins,  Roy  and  Rae.  Mr.  Stanley 
wanted  the  boy  named  Theodore,  but  Ruth  said, 
"No!"  The  twins  were  five  years  old  and  mischiev 
ous  enough  to  keep  two  nurse  girls  busy,  but 
alas!  there  was  no  income  for  nurse  girls.  Then 
three-year-old  Mary,  and  last  of  all  eight-months- 
old  Felix. 

Mr.  Stanley  was  reading  the  evening  paper 
between  mouthfuls — a  habit  of  his  at  the  table. 

71 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

The  largest  plate  of  berries  was  for  him;  the  ten- 
derest  as  well  as  the  largest  piece  of  steak  was  on 
his  plate.  He  worked  hard;  in  fact,  he  worked 
all  day,  and  when  he  came  home,  he  came  home 
to  rest.  He  must  have  quiet  and  the  children 
must  be  tidy  and  the  house  straight.  Of  course 
the  dainties  were  for  him— he  accepted  them  with 
out  question.  Did  he  not  support  the  family? 
The  inside  cut  of  the  watermelon,  the  brown 
piece  of  pie,  the  delicate  part  of  the  fish,  the  fresh 
hot  pancakes,  the  hot  Sunday  dinner  which  Ruth 
stayed  at  home  to  cook  were  for  him.  Of  course, 
if  the  allowance  was  small  he  must  not  be  neg 
lected.  The  fresh  new  business  suit  was  for  him, 
for  contact  with  other  men  required  it,  the  old 
faded  wrapper  for  her,  for  she  came  in  contact  with 
no  one. 

She  a  fool  to  bear  it?  Yes,  but  let  her  assert 
her  rights  and  what  happens?  Long  silences, 
gruff  answers,  off  to  business  with  no  good-by. 
children  cuffed  and  scolded. 

Why  did  she  start  it?  Love  prompted  it.  She 
thought  he  would  do  the  same  for  her.  She  was 

72 


After  Twenty  Years 

glad  to  give,  but  he  never  saw  the  little  things  to 
do.  But  she  loved  and  hoped  on. 

Years  passed,  habits  formed — Ruth  became  a 
drudge  and  a  subject.  Sub-consciously  was  the 
sickening  thought  that  it  was  love  of  her  body 
and  not  of  her  soul  that  prompted  the  man  beside 
her  to  marry  her. 

God  pity  the  trusting,  loving  girl  who  awakens 
to  this  certainty,  and  the  angels  envy  the  woman 
who  finds  her  soul-mate  before  she  crosses  yonder. 

Finally  supper  was  over  and  Mr.  Stanley  pushed 
back  his  chair,  took  the  rocker  and  settled  himself 
behind  his  paper.  The  children  scattered.  The 
older  girls  cleared  the  table  and  Ruth  sat  down 
to  her  mending. 

Mr.  Stanley's  large  laugh  rang  out. 

"Listen  to  this,  mother,"  said  he.  "A  family 
of  ten  has  sent  the  family  portrait  to  the  Presi 
dent.  I  didn't  tell  you,  but  I  sent  our  flock  to 
him  yesterday.  The  one  I  took  on  the  front  steps. ' ' 

A  vivid  blush  dyed  Ruth's  face  and  neck. 

"You  sent  our  picture  to  Washington?"  The 
tired  eyes  snapped.  "Have  you  any  respect  forme? 

73 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

Am  I  not  human!  What  is  my  life!  God  knows 
I  love  my  children,  but  neither  they  nor  I  have 
had  a  chance.  You  are  the  only  one  of  importance 
in  this  household.  I  am  a  slave,  a  drudge.  You 
are  selfish  to  the  core.  If  it  were  not  for  the 
children,  how  glad,  oh,  how  glad  I  should  be  to 
rest,  to  leave  it  all.  Do  you  ever  see  me  with  a 
book  or  a  paper?  No!  I  have  a  basket  of  darn 
ing,  that  is  my  leisure.  I  am  resting  when  I  am 
mending.  Washing,  ironing,  sweeping,  cleaning, 
cooking,  sewing,  are  my  round  of  recreation. 
You  try  it  for  a  while,  for  one  day,  try  it  and  see 
then  if  you  will  send  the  family  group  to  Wash 
ington.  You  might  mail  with  it  my  picture  as 
I  was  when  I  married  you.  Let  him  compare  the 
two.  You  love  me\  Do  you  think  I  believe  it? 
I  have  not  believed  it  for  long  years.  If  you  do, 
I  can't  love  you.  I  despise  you." 

Mr.  Stanley  fidgeted.  All  his  aldermanic  puffiness 
and  complacency  vanished  before  this  storm  which 
had  been  gathering  with  the  years.  "There!  there! 
mother,"  said  he,  "wait  until  my  investment 
turns  out  and  then  see  what  I  shall  do  for  you." 

74 


After  Twenty  Years 

"Yes,  I'll  wait,  wait  in  my  grave.  I  am  tired 
waiting." 

This  was  all  very  ruffling  to  the  master  of  the 
house.  With  a  sigh  he  crossed  the  room  to  where 
his  wife  sat.  He  patted  her  shoulder.  She 
shrank  from  his  touch,  but  endured  it  as  she  had 
endured  before.  "Now  you  don't  hate  me,  you 
know  you  don't,"  he  said  in  his  coddling  voice. 
"Just  wait  a  bit.  Things  will  not  be  so  hard. 
I  had  a  good  report  from  the  mines  yesterday. 
Now  don't  act  this  way.  Be  patient  a  little  lon 
ger.  Here,  take  this  dollar,  go  buy  yourself  some 
thing  with  it.  Now!  what  have  I  done?"  as  Ruth 
rose  and  he  saw  the  look  of  cold  scorn  and  con 
tempt  in  her  face.  "You  won't  have  the  dollar? 
I  can't  please  you,  Ruth.  I  do  all  I  can;  it  isn't 
my  fault,"  and  half  whimpering,  he  went  back  to 
his  chair. 

Just  then  William  came  tunning  in.  "Here  is  a 
letter  for  motherV 

The  other  children  trooped  after  him. 

"A  letter  for  mother"  they  chorused,  "how 
funny!" 

75 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

They  all  gathered  round  her  as  she  read  it. 
This  is  what  she  read: 


"Dear  old  Ruth: — I  am  planning  a  reunion  of 
'the  triangle.'  Burnett  and  I  and  the  children 

are  staying  at  B for  a  tew  weeks  for  a  little 

rest.  I  learned  that  Florence  expected  to  pass 
through  here  next  Friday,  so  I  wrote  her  and  she 
has  promised  to  spend  the  day  with  me.  I  want 
you  to  come  too.  Now,  do  not  say  no,  but  come 
for  the  sake  of  auld  lang  syne.  We  may  never 
be  so  near  each  other  again.  You  must  come. 
How  much  I  long  to  see  you  both.  Take  the  8:50 
car  and  I  shall  meet  you  at  the  station.  I  shall 
expect  you,  so  good-by  until  then. 
Your  loving, 

Margaret." 

Maud  was  on  her  knees  beside  her  mother's 
rocker,  her  head  on  her  shoulder,  reading  too. 
"When  is  it,  mother?  Day  after  to-morrow!  You 
must  go!" 

"How  can  I,  Maud?  We  have  not  ironed  yet 
76 


After  Twenty  Years 

this  week  and  I  must  make  a  new  pair  of  trousers 
for  Roy  before  Sunday." 

"Oh,  Sarah  will  help  me  and  we'll  manage  some 
how,  won't  we  children?  We  want  mother  to  go, 
don't  we?" 

"Where,  where?"  said  they,  and  Mr.  Stanley 
laid  down  his  newspaper. 

"Give  your  father  the  letter,  Maud,"  said  Ruth. 

"Yes,  father,  read  it  aloud  so  they  can  all  hear." 

Mr.  Stanley  read  the  letter  and  there  was  a 
moment's  silence. 

"Yes,  you  must  go,  Ruth,"  said  he,  softened  to 
magnanimity  by  the  recent  outburst. 

"Well,  we'll  see  about  it,"  said  Ruth.  "Now, 
let  us  get  the  children  to  bed." 

After  the  house  was  quiet  and  the  little  ones 
asleep,  Ruth  and  Maud  talked  the  situation  over. 

Maud  left  her  mother  a  few  moments  to  slip  up 
stairs  to  her  father. 

"Father,  I  must  have  two  dollars  tomorrow  to 
help  to  get  mother  ready,"  she  said. 

"Two  dollars!  I  can't  let  you  have  it.  Can't 
she  wear  what  she  has?" 

77 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

"What  she  has,  father!  Mother  hasn't  had  a 
new  thing  for  five  years  that  I  remember.  How 
much  can  you  give  me?" 

"Well,  will  a  dollar  do?"  he  asked  in  a  half- 
abused  voice. 

"Yes,  I  can  make  it  do." 

She  didn't  stop  to  thank  him,  but  went  away 
muttering  that  she  wished  she  was  a  man! 

Her  face  was  bright  and  happy  as  she  rejoined 
her  mother  dragging  after  her  a  large  cretonne 
bag.  The  "emergency  bag"  Maud  called  it,  for 
it  contained  odds  and  ends  of  every  description, 
good  for  making  over  and  retrimming. 

"Mother,  I  have  a  plan,"  she  said  brightly. 
"Tonight  I  shall  rip  up  the  waist  of  your  black 
dress,  take  out  the  old  vest  and  put  in  this  piece 
of  lace  that  was  your  mother's.  I  '11  turn  the  sleeves 
upside  down  so  they  will  be  in  style  and  the  skirt, 
you  know,  is  really  good  and  quite  in  the  fashion. 
You  can  wear  my  black  underskirt  and  my  gloves. 
Then  your  hat,  mother.  I  have  a  dollar  to  buy  a 
new  frame  and  see  this  net — I  shall  cover  it  and 
re-curl  that  old  black  plume  of  yours  and  it  will 

78 


After  Twenty  Years 

look  dainty  and  pretty.  But,  oh,  mother,  your 
shoes!"  she  exclaimed,  as  Ruth,  with  a  smile, 
pointed  to  them.  "Oh,  mother,  what  shall  we  do? 
What  shall  we  do?" 

"Never  mind,  my  dear  little  girl.  Mother 
doesn't  care.  I  shall  stay  home,"  said  Ruth. 

Just  then  the  door  was  pushed  open  and  ten- 
year-old  William  stood  revealed  just  as  he  had 
left  his  bed.  Unknown  to  Ruth  and  Maud  the 
door  of  his  room  had  been  left  ajar  and  there  he 
stood,  his  face-  all  aglow  with  eagerness,  his  bank 
in  his  hand.  He  ran  to  his  mother  and  put  his 
arms  around  her  neck. 

"Here  mother.  I  have  four  dollars.  My  own 
money  that  I  earned,  you  know,  running  errands 
for  Mr.  Stone.  Would  four  dollars  buy  your 
shoes,  mother?" 

Ruth  gathered  the  little  fellow  in  her  arms. 
That  money  as  she  knew  had  been  hoarded  nickel 
by  nickel  for  a  pair  of  roller  skates. 

"No,  mother's  little  man  must  have  his  skates." 

"And  you  won't  use  it,  mother?"  His  lips 
trembled  and  the  tears  shone  in  his  dark  eyes. 

79 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

There  was  so  much  of  disappointment  in  his 
face  that  Ruth  hesitated. 

She  caught  a  look  from  Maud.  "Perhaps 
mother,  we  could  manage  to  pay  William  back 
after  a  little,  enough  anyway  so  that  he  could  get 
his  skates." 

" Perhaps  we  could.  Anyway  I  think  I'll  ac 
cept  your  money  and  mother  thanks  you  with 
all  her  heart  Come  now,  sweetheart,  come  back 
to  bed, "and  mother  and  boy  walked  off  together 
with  their  arms  around  each  other,  he  looking  up 
with  worshipful  eyes,  she  smiling  back  with  all  a 
mother's  love. 

When  she  came  back  Maud  was  busy  ripping. 
She  looked  up  and  smiled.  "Go  to  bed,  mother, 
and  sleep." 

"You  come,  too,  dear." 

"In  just  a  moment,  mother." 

Ruth  stood  a  moment.  "It  seems  almost  like 
too  much  of  an  undertaking,"  she  said  with  a 
sigh. 

Maud  laughed.  "Not  a  bit  of  it,  mother.  Go 
to  bed  and  we  shall  see  tomorrow." 

80 


After  Twenty  Years 

Maud  raised  her  lips  and  Ruth  stooped  to  kiss 
her.  "There  is  not  another  girl  like  mine  in  all 
the  world,"  said  she  proudly. 

"Nor  another  mother  like  mine.     Goodnight." 

"Good-night" 

On  the  morrow,  Maud  was  up  with  the  grey  dawn. 
When  Ruth  came  down  the  re-modeled  dress  was 
ready  to  fit. 

Sarah  dressed  the  younger  children  and  Ruth 
prepared  the  breakfast.  There  was  a  subdued  ex 
citement  in  everything.  Mother  was  going  away. 

But  while  Ruth  stopped  a  moment  to  consult 
with  Maud  the  mush  scorched,  and,  of  course,  had 
to  be  made  over.  When  breakfast  was  finally 
ready,  during  an  absence  of  Ruth's  in  the  kitchen, 
the  twins  seized  the  molasses  jug  before  any  one 
could  interfere  and  upset  it  in  their  laps  and  on  the 
floor.  Such  a  muss!  No  one  but  mother  could 
oversee  such  a  cleaning-up. 

This  morning  Mr.  Stanley  was  in  a  particular 
hurry,  he  had  a  business  engagement  before  office 
hours  concerning  the  mines.  He  had  made  a 
sketch  the  day  before  and  put  it,  as  he  thought, 

81 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

in  his  vest  pocket.  But  now  it  was  not  to  be 
found.  Maud  put  by  her  sewing,  (she  had  not 
stopped  except  for  just  a  bite  of  breakfast)  and 
ran  upstairs  to  go  through  her  father's  clothes  and 
find  the  missing  sheet  if  possible.  Ruth  looked  in 
drawers,  on  tables,  book-shelves,  but  to  no  avail. 
All  the  family  joined  the  search,  Mr.  Stanley 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  thrusting  first 
one  hand  and  then  the  other  into  his  several 
pockets.  This  went  on  for  half  an  hour  or  more 
and  finally  when  all  were  about  to  the  giving-up 
place  Mr.  Stanley  called  out — 

"Oh,  I  remember  now.  I  let  Davis  have  it 
last  night  and  he  will  have  it  there  this  morning. 
Good-bye,  I  must  hurry  off." 

Ruth  drew  a  long  breath  and  looked  at  the 
clock. 

"Come,  children.  Time  for  school!"  But  Nellie 
just  then  caught  her  dress  in  the  swinging  door 
and  tore  a  great  rent  in  it. 

"Oh,  mother,  see!"  she  cried,  holding  up  the 
torn  dress,  "and  I  can't  wear  my  blue  one,  because 
it  has  all  the  buttons  off." 

82 


After  Twenty  Years 

"Maud,  you  must  stop  to  mend  this  for  I  must 
look  after  the  baby." 

At  last  baby  was  bathed  and  asleep  in  his  crib 
and  the  children  off  to  school.  Little  Mary  played 
on  the  floor  at  Maud's  feet  and  Ruth  went  about 
her  other  work. 

Suddenly  they  were  both  startled  by  a  gasp 
from  Mary.  She  had  been  playing  with  the  button- 
box  and  had  gotten  a  button  into  her  throat. 
Both  women  grew  white  as  they  seized  the  strang 
ling  child.  They  could  barely  feel  the  sharp  edge. 
"Do  not  push  it  down,  Maud!  Wait!"  And  the 
mother  lifted  the  little  one  clear  of  the  floor  by 
the  heels  and  shook  her  till  out  came  the 
button. 

Both  sank  down  too  weak  to  stand.  Mary 
started  to  scream  and  that  wakened  the  baby. 

"Oh  Maud!  there  is  no  use.  You  must  help  me 
and  I'll  not  try  to  go." 

"Never  mind,  mother,"  said  the  brave  young 
girl,  "I'll  stop  for  a  few  minutes.  We  shall  get 
through  all  right." 

So  the  day  went.  Baby  was  hushed  again  to 
83 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

sleep  and  Maud  made  a  hurried  trip  to  town  to  buy 
the  hat  frame  and  her  mother's  shoes. 

"While  you  are  gone  I  shall  get  the  work  done," 
said  her  mother. 

But  110  sooner  was  Maud  well  away  than  the 
doorbell  rang  and  there  stood  the  man  to  repair 
the  plumbing. 

Ruth  must  stop  and  explain  it  all  to  him,  and 
before  he  was  gone  the  children  were  home  for 
lunch,  Sarah  with  a  sick  headache.  Oh,  such  a  day! 
After  they  were  off:,  Ruth  and  Maud  sat  down  in 
despair. 

"Oh,  I  would  so  much  rather  not  go  than  to 
have  all  this  hurry.  I  feel  weak  and  faint." 

But  she  did  go  because  of  Maud's  brave  young- 
heart.  Unknown  to  her  mother  she  stayed  up 
almost  all  night  "getting  a  start"  for  the  morrow 
so  that  mother  might  go  off  quietly  in  the  morning. 
And  well  repaid  she  felt  when  she  looked  into  her 
mother's  face,  bright  with  excitement  as  she  stood 
at  the  door  bidding  them  good-by. 

The  children  patted  the  dress  and  looked  at  her 
admiringly.  Even  her  husband  said: 

84 


After  Twenty  Years 

"Ruth,  you  do  look  nice." 

And  Maud  throwing  her  arms  around  her, 
whispered,  "Oh,  I  wish  we  could  see  you  this  way 
oftener." 


THE    REUNION 


CHAPTER  VI 


THE  REUNION. 

MARGARET,  true  to  her  word,  met  Ruth  at 
the  station. 

Ruth  knew  Margaret  in  a  moment  but  Marga 
ret  was  not  at  all  sure  of  Ruth,  until  she  had  had 
a  good  look  into  her  eyes. 

' 'Hello,  Ruth!"  cried  Margaret,  using  the  old 
salutation. 

"Hello,  Margaret,"  laughed  Ruth,  and  the 
women  kissed  each  other. 

"Come  along.  I  have  the  carriage  hitched  back 
of  the  station,"  said  Margaret. 

There,  seated  in  the  low  wicker  surrey,  was 
Florence.  She  was  dressed  in  a  plain  tailored  suit 
which  fitted  to  every  curve  of  her  beautiful  form. 
A  broad-brimmed  hat  with  a  drooping  plume 

89 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

shaded  her  face  and  gave  an  added  depth  to  the 
dark  eyes.  She  leaned  forward  to  hold  out  both 
hands  to  Ruth.  Ruth  hurried  to  her  and  their 
lips  met. 

"Come,  get  in,  Ruth,"  said  Margaret,  "sit  in 
the  back  seat  with  Florence.  I'll  be  driver." 

The  horses  started  at  a  brisk  pace.  After  an 
absence  of  so  many  years  words  did  not  come 
easily.  Each  face  gave  a  hint  of  its  story  and 
"the  triangle"  felt  its  way  with  one  another.  Ruth 
was  making  this  mental  note: 

"Margaret  was  never  so  handbome  as  now.  She 
has  soul  in  her  face  and  happiness  too.  All  the 
good  has  grown  in  Margaret,  but  in  Florence — 
she  is  beautiful,  but — what  is  it  that  has  gone  from 
her  face?"  Ruth  could  not  answer. 

Florence's  thought  was:  "How  Ruth  has  aged! 
More  than  aged,  she  is  broken.  She  makes  me 
think  of  pictures  I  have  seen  of  suffering  saints. 
Yes,  she  has  suffered  but  not  as  I  have.  I  guess," 
with  a  sigh,  "Margaret  is  the  only  happy 
one." 

Margaret,  too,  was  busy  with  her  thought, 
90 


The  Reunion 

"Well,  well,  how  they  have  changed,  both  of  them. 
Ruth  has  had  a  hard  life  and  Florence  an  empty 
one." 

Ruth  felt  her  shabbiness  compared  with  Flor 
ence's  elegance  and  Margaret's  smart  suit,  and  a 
feeling  that  was  half  envy,  half  pride,  took  pos 
session  of  her.  But  she  tried  to  hide  her  embar 
rassment  and  appear  gay  and  happy. 

Florence  felt  her  unsuitableness  to  the  occasion. 
Her  life  passed  before  her.  Her  load  was  heavy. 
Margaret's  and  Ruth's  lives  were  so  different  they 
could  not  understand  her  trouble.  "They  cannot 
know  and  they  shall  not  know,"  she  said  to  her 
self.  Margaret,  sympathetically  sensitive  to  the 
condition  of  those  around  her  read  something  of 
the  attitude  of  each,  and  feeling  the  loneliness  of 
one  life,  and  the  limitations  of  the  other,  she  de 
termined  to  hide  her  happiness  lest  it  should  be 
an  added  sting  to  the  others. 

So  the  three  chatted  about  everything,  about 
nothing,  each  thinking  herself  wonderfully  clever. 

They  were  met  at  the  gate  by  Dr.  Hill  and  the 
children. 

91 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

Six  hearty  rollicking  young  people,  quick  of 
mind,  and  sound  of  body. 

Margaret's  face  unconsciously  changed  as  they 
came  in  view  and  Florence  and  Ruth  noted  the 
change. 

"What  beautiful  children,"  exclaimed  Florence. 

Margaret's  head  lifted  a  little,  "Yes,  I  am  proud 
of  my  children.  Burnett  and  I  thought  nothing 
of  so  much  importance  as  the  advent  of  a  human 
soul,  and  we  have  done  our  best  for  them  both 
before  and  after  their  birth.  My  vitality  was  con 
served  for  my  children.  Burnett's  broad  shoul 
ders  have  been  under  all  my  care,  and  I  tell  you 
it  was  hard  at  fiist,  for  we  had  very  little." 

When  they  drove  up  Ruth  and  Florence  saw 
the  look  exchanged  between  husband  and  wife 
and  their  own  hearts  went  heavy. 

Margaret  was  proud  of  her  husband,  every  inch 
a  gentleman,  quiet,  strong,  alive.  You  felt  his 
power  in  the  touch  of  his  firm  hand  and  in  the 
glance  of  his  penetrating  eye. 

They  stood  a  moment  while  Margaret  made  the 
introductions. 

92 


The  Reunion 

"We  are  off,  the  children  and  I,"  said  Dr.  Hill, 
"for  the  day.  We  shall  leave  mother  the  day  and 
the  house." 

Father  and  children  made  a  handsome  group. 
Grace  stood  tall  and  straight  by  her  father.  She 
had  her  mother's  golden  hair  and  her  father's 
deep  blue  eyes.  She  had  been  having  a  morning 
game  of  tennis  with  hei  brother  and  the  rolled  - 
up  sleeve  showed  an  arm  well  developed.  There 
was  strength  and  poise  in  her  carriage. 

Grace,  although  just  nineteen,  knew  every  de 
tail  of  housekeeping  and  could  manage  as  well  as 
her  mother.  Margaret  did  not  say,  with  many 
mothers:  "Let  her  have  a  good  time  now.  She 
must  settle  down  and  give  up  her  fun  soon  enough  " 

Dr.  Hill  and  his  wife  believed  they  insured  to 
their  girls  good  times  in  the  future,  as  well  as  in 
the  present,  in  equipping  them  to  be  wives  and 
mothers. 

Next  came  Robert.  Robert  had  the  light  of  a 
poet  in  his  eyes.  It  was  such  a  pleasure  to  talk 
to  the  boy.  Usually  there  was  a  copy  of  Burns, 
or  Riley  bulging  out  one  pocket  and  one  often 

93 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

found  him  stretched  out  by  the  brook  which  rippled 
at  the  end  of  the  lot  back  of  the  house,  gazing  up 
into  the  blue  sky  utterly  lost,  except  to  the  crea 
tures  of  his  imagination. 

John's  head  had  the  bulging  forehead  of  a  states 
man.  He  was  already  president  of  the  boys' 
debating  club  and  nothing  pleased  him  better  than 
to  talk  over  the  questions  of  the  day  with  his 
father. 

Then  came  Katherine,  the  sweet  singer,  the  lark 
of  the  family,  and  so  it  was  with  them  all.  Even 
to  little  two-year-old  David. 

Florence  might  well  say  "beautiful  children;" 
on  each  cheek  was  the  glow  of  health  and  in  each 
eye  the  gleam,  of  intelligence  and  the  earnest  of 
the  future. 

Goodbyes  were  said  and  the  three  women  entered 
the  large  attractive  home. 

Margaret  was  an  ideal  hostess. 

Naturally  each  was  busy  answering  the  questions 
of  the  others. 

Florence  raised  her  hands  in  protest  over  Ruth's 
eleven  children,  but  Ruth,  true  to  her  woman's 

94 


The  Reunion 

heart,  painted  everything  in  rosy  colors.  Florence, 
too,  lauded  the  convenience  and  attractiveness  of 
hotel  life,  and  all  questioned  and  listened  and 
drew  their  own  conclusions. 

Ere  long  the  lunch  bell  rang  and  the  three  en 
tered  the  dining-room.  Conversation  drifted  to 
every-day  topics.  Ruth  felt  that  her  feet  were 
on  slippery  ground. 

Florence  was  saying: 

"What  do  you  think  of  'The  Jungle,'  Ruth?" 

'  'The    Jungle?'  '      said     Ruth     gropingly. 

"Yes  Sinclair's  book,"  explained  Margaret 
quickly 

"Oh,  I  haven't  read  it,"  said  Ruth  with  height 
ened  color.  "What  is  it  about?" 

Both  women  gasped.  Ruth,  the  book-lover,  not 
to  know  "The  Jungle." 

Margaret  told  her  in  a  few  words  of  the  advent 
of  the  wonderful  story  and  changed  the  conversa 
tion. 

Ruth  felt  vaguely  uneasy.  But  when  the  con 
versation  drifted  to  children's  diseases  she  felt 
more  comfortable.  Margaret  was  telling  of  a 

95 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

sick  time  of  little  David's.  She  was  saying,  "He 
had  three  convulsions,  just  think  of  it.  You 
know  what  that  means,  Ruth,  but  you  can't  un 
derstand,  Florence,"  said  she,  turning  to  Florence. 

Florence's  face  went  white.  "Yes,  my  baby 
died  in  convulsions,"  she  said  with  dry  lips. 

"Your  baby!     Oh,   forgive  me,   Florence." 

Somehow  conversation  was  not  so  easy  after  that 
although  their  hearts  were  more  open  and  tender 
toward  one  another. 

Margaret  was  glad  when  the  time  came  to  rise. 

"Now  for  my  surprise,"  said  she,  as  she  threw 
an  arm  around  each  of  the  others  and  led  the  way 
down  the  hall  to  a  closed  door  to  the  right.  This 
she  opened  and  pushed  the  others  in  ahead  of 
her. 

Florence  and  Ruth  looked  around  bewildered. 
Behold!  Ruth's  old  college  room  even  to  the 
slightest  detail.  The  curtains  were  drawn  and 
the  lamps  lighted  and  by  the  grate  fire  three  chairs 
were  drawn  just  as  they  stood  on  that  last  night 
together. 

Somehow    the    guarded    doors    of    their   hearts 
96 


The  Reunion 

swung  open  and  the  confiding'  spirit  of  girlhood 
took  possession  of  them. 

It  was  too  much  for  all  three. 

"Oh,  Margaret!"  came  from  Florence  and  Ruth 
simultaneously,  and  then  Florence  began  to  cry, 
and  finally  the  whole  three  were  crying  with  their 
arms  around  one  another.  And  then  Margaret 
led  the  way  to  the  chairs  and  each  one  took  the 
old  place  and  silence  fell,  for  the  three  were  think 
ing. 

Florence  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"Oh,  girls!  I'd  give  all  the  world  to  be  as  I  was 
twenty  years  ago.  Oh,  I  am  so  miserable!  I  am 
only  one  of  the  women  I  used  so  to  detest,  one  of 
the  silken-skirted  women  who  came  to  the  settle 
ment  to  do  the  'charity  act,'  as  we  called  it.  But 
I  made  my  fight  girls!  My  husband  was  not  true. 
My  baby  died.  Even  the  comfort  of  the  belief 
in  a  pitying  God  was  taken  from  me.  I  have 
grown  cold  and  hard,  and  perhaps  you  have  heard 
it — my  name  has  been  coupled  with  a  man's  who 
is  not  my  husband.  He  was  such  a  friend.  He 
saw  and  understood  all  my  misery.  He  tried  to 

97 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

help  me  and  I  was  grateful.  But  the  world  would 
not  allow  me  even  the  solace  of  his  friendship 
and  perhaps  the  world  was  right,  I  feel  for 
saken  and  cast  aside.  Oh,  to  go  back  twenty 
years  to  my  pure,  innocent,  happy  girlhood!  But 
I  must  live  on  and  wait  for  the  end.  What  do 
you  think  of  the  Madonna  now?" 

She  was  pacing  restlessly  up  and  down,  but 
stopped  and  faced  the  other  two  as  she  asked  the 
question. 

Ruth,  with  characteristic  unselfishness,  forgot 
her  own  trouble  in  listening  to  Florence's.  She 
felt  a  thrill  of  sympathy  when  Florence  spoke  of 
the  unfaithfulness  of  her  husband. 

"Florence  dear,"  she  said,  in  the  quiet,  sweet 
voice  she  used  to  comfort  her  children,  "I  have 
trouble,  too,  heavy  trouble.  But  I  know  there 
is  a  God — a  loving,  tender  Father  and  He  should 
have  been  your  refuge  and  your  strength." 

Florence  came  and  knelt  at  Ruth's  feet  and 
buried  her  head  in  her  lap  as  she  used  to  do  in  the 
days  so  long  gone  by. 

"You    have    trouble,    Ruth,    you — with    your 


The  Reunion 

children   and    your    home    and    your    husband?" 

Ruth  stroked  the  brown  head. 

"You  would  scarcely  understand  my  trouble, 
dearie — it  may  do  you  good  to  hear  it — I  have 
been  a  slave,  a  drudge.  You  know  my  old  love 
for  books,  but  I  have  scarcely  looked  into  a  book 
or  magazine  since  my  marriage.  This  is  the  first 
day  I  have  spent  away  from  home  for  ten  years. 
We  have  had  hard  times  and  I  have  had  no  clothes. 
It  took  my  daughter  and  me  one  day  and  night 
to  make  me  decent  to  come.  I  do  not  go  to  church, 
for  my  husband  has  little  sympathy  with  religion 
and  it  means  a  scene  for  me  to  go.  But  the  sad 
dest  of  all,"  the  voice  broke  a  little  and  the  hand 
on  the  bowed  head  paused,  "the  saddest  of  all, 
Florence,  is  my  little  ones.  They  have  had  no  chance 
either  before  their  birth  or  after  it.  I  looked  at 
Margaret's  group  and  thought  of  mine  as  I  left 
them  looking  up  so  eagerly  into  my  face — faces 
white  and  drawn,  thin  little  bodies,  clothes  patched 
and  mended.  Oh,  my  heart  is  heavy.  My  hus 
band  has  not  been  untrue,  as  has  yours,  Florence, 
but  just  as  surely  he  has  betrayed  his  trust.  And 

99 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

when  I  think  that  perhaps  I  may  not  always  be 
near  to  shelter  them — Florence,  do  you  know,  can 
you  know,  the  ache,  the  awful  ache  and  the  black 
misery  of  it  all?  Your  little  one  is  safe  in  heaven, 
but  I  must  leave — I  must  leave  my  little  ones — 
to  perhaps  unloving  hands  I— 

Here  the  voice  broke  utterly,  and  Florence's 
arms  reached  up  about  her.  Margaret's  face  was 
bowed  in  her  hands  and  the  tears  were  stealing 
through  her  fingers.  In  her  heart  she  was  saying, 
"Oh,  God!  forgive  me  for  not  thanking  thee  more 
for  Burnett!" 

She  stole  quietly  to  the  little  stand  near  by  and 
took  from  it  her  little  old  Testament.  She  drew 
her  chair  close  to  Ruth's. 

"Girls!  listen,"  she  said — and  with  a  voice  often 
breaking,  she  read, 

"Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled:  ye  believe  in 
God,  believe  also  in  me." 


100 


THE    DEATH    OF    RUTH 


CHAPTER  VII 


THE  DEATH  OF  RUTH 

MOTHER  was  ill;  a  bad  bilious  attack,  the  doc 
tor  said.  She  had  kept  about,  although  her  head 
was  dizzy  and  her  feet  heavy,  until  she  could  no 
longer  stand,  and  then  Maud  had  put  her  to  bed 
and  they  had  sent  for  the  doctor. 

This  was  ten  days  ago  but  still  Ruth  was  not 
better — in  fact,  she  was  worse,  often  frightening 
the  children  in  her  delirium.  Another  physician 
was  called  and  he  immediately  pronounced  it 
typhoid  fever  in  an  advanced  stage. 

The  battle  was  on,  but  already  the  enemy  had 
the  advantage. 

Maud,  with  anxious  heart  and  flushed  cheek, 
worked  and  nursed  with  the  strength  of  two. 
Sarah  was  a  good  second  and  the  boys  never 
103 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

grumbled  in  their  share.  Maud  knew  from  the 
concern  on  the  faces  of  the  physicians  that  her 
mother  was  in  danger.  Her  father  laughed  at 
the  idea.  "Just  a  light  attack  and  she  will  be 
around  again,"  he  said. 

He  came  into  the  sick  room  night  and  morning 
to  inquire  after  his  wife.  Somehow  he  didn't  fit 
in  there  very  well  and  things  were  coming  to  a 
crisis  in  his  mining  speculation  and  his  time  was 
required  at  important  meetings. 

One  morning  he  came  into  the  darkened  room 
in  his  usual  hurry. 

"Tom,"  said  Ruth,  "wait  a  bit.  There  are 
things  I  must  say  to  you." 

"Wait  until  to-night,  Ruth.  I  have  a  directors' 
meeting  early  and  I  must  go  now.  To-day  we 
shall  have  definite  news  and  I  may  be  a  rich  man, 
so  hurry  and  get  well  to  wear  your  silk  dress." 
He  laughed  his  big  laugh  and  stooped  to  kiss  the 
white  face  on  the  pillow. 

"Good-bye,  I'll  be  in  to-night." 

"Good-bye,"  replied  Ruth  and  turned  her  face 
to  the  wall. 

104 


The  Death  of  Ruth 

That  night  he  came  in,  eager  and  impatient, 
with  Tom  at  his  heels. 

Maud  held  up  a  warning  finger,  but  her  father 
did  not  see  it. 

"Well,  mother,"  he  said,  "we  are  worth  a  cool 
million  if  a  cent.  They  have  struck  gold,  struck 
it  rich."  He  pushed  his  way  to  the  bed,  looked  at 
his  wife  and  then  quickly  at  Maud. 

"Oh,  hush,  father,  mother  is  not  so  well.  She 
does  not  know  you  and  cannot  understand  what 
you  say.  Go  into  the  other  room  and  I'll  call 
you  when  she  can  talk  to  you." 

He  went  out,  asking  Maud  on  the  way  what  she 
thought  of  the  mines  now! 

"Oh  father,  I  can't  think  of  anything  but 
mother,"  she  said. 

Little  William  crouched  at  the  foot  of  the  bed 
watching  his  mother's  face.  Maud  watched,  too. 
Suddenly  she  sprang  up  and  hurried  to  the  next 
room.  "Oh,  father!  get  the  doctor,  quick,  quick, 
mother  is  dying." 

Just  then  the  doctor  happened  in.  He  foresaw 
the  crisis  in  the  morning  and  came  that  he 
105 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

might  help  the  afflicted  girl.  One  by  one 
they  all  gathered  round  the  bed.  In  their 
midst  was  a  mysterious  presence  which  chilled 
and  awed  them.  Maud  pressed  close  in  her  arms 
baby  Felix. 

"Mother,  Mother  !"  she  sobbed.  William,  with 
dry  eyes,  was  on  the  other  side,  his  little  hand 
closed  around  one  of  his  mother's  cold  ones. 

"She's  not   dying,    doctor?"   said   Mr.    Stanley. 

"Yes,  she  can  last  but  a  very  few  minutes  now," 
came  in  the  voice  of  the  physician  tuned  to  the 
stillness  of  the  death-chamber. 

Suddenly  a  light  broke  over  the  mother's  face. 
Her  eyes  swept  the  circle  around  the  bed,  she 
reached  out  her  arms,  struggled  to  speak,  and 
was  gone. 

Mother  gone!  The  hand  which  steadied  the 
first  step,  the  lips  which  kissed  away  the  first 
tear,  the  heart  which  first  was  raised  to  the  Father 
heart  for  her  darlings. 

A  conception  of  her  loss  froze  the  tears  in  Maud's 
eyes.  Mother  gone! 

The  hand  that  tucked  you  into  bed.  Can't  you 
106 


The  Death  of  Ruth 

remember  how  she  listened  and  how  she  comforted 
when  the  boys  fought  you,  or  the  girls  swung  their 
skirts  when  you  came  near.  The  days  when  you 
were  sick — wrhy,  it  was  not  all  pain  because  mother 
was  there.  Mother,  who  fashioned  the  dolly  out 
of  gingerbread,  who  saved  for  you  the  little  dainty. 
Mother!  who  so  often  stood  between  you  and  father. 
Can  you  forget! 

Mother    gone!    sweet,    patient,   loving    mother. 

Maud  looked  wildly  around  for  the  doctor.  "Oh 
is  she  gone,  is  mother  gone?" 

"Yes,  my  child,"  he  said  gently,  the  tears  in  his 
own  eyes. 

She  thrust  the  baby  into  his  arms  and  threw  her 
own  about  the  cold  form  and  pressed  her  cheek 
to  the  face  upon  the  pillow.  "Little  mother," 
she  crooned,  "dear  little  mother." 

There  was  a  touch  on  her  shoulder.  She  looked 
up  into  the  doctor's  eyes. 

"Mother  has  left  something  for  you  to  do.  If 
she  were  here  she  would  ask  you  to  look  after  these 
little  ones." 

"Oh,  yes,  yes,  I  will,  doctor,  I  will."  She 
107 


A  Woman's  Answer  to  Roosevelt 

turned  back  once  more.     Leaning  low  she  whis 
pered,  "I  will,  mother,  I  will." 

*     *     #     #     *     *     * 

You  would  not  know  the  old  house,  for  it  had 
been  painted  outside  and  inside — it  had  been 
frescoed,  varnished,  carpeted,  curtained,  draped, 
lawn  planted,  shrubberies  set  out,  everything 
made  beautiful  and  inviting.  Mr.  Stanley  had 
struck  it  rich  and  pompously  received  the  homage 
of  his  satellites. 

One  morning  the  house  was  in  an  unusual  stir 
of  preparation.  Flowers  were  everywhere,  ser 
vants  darted  hither  and  thither;  the  snowiest 
linen  was  on  the  table;  the  most  sparkling  silver 
and  cut-glass  glittered  upon  the  buffet  and  side 
board;  the  most  tempting  odors  came  from  the 
kitchen;  something  unusual  certainly  was  about 
to  happen. 

In  the  parlor  a  little  group  had  just  gathered 
when  a  carriage  drove  up  to  the  front  door.  From 
it  alighted  Mr.  Stanley  and  a  showily  attired 
woman,  whom  he  introduced  to  the  footman  as 
"my  wife."  They  ascended  the  stairs  and  Mr. 
108 


The  Death  of  Ruth 

Stanley  opened  the  front  door  with  his  latch  key. 
A  shiver  passed  through  the  little  group,  the  mem 
bers  of  which  drew  nearer  together.  They  arose 
as  the  two  arrivals  entered  the  parlor. 

"Maud,"  said  Mr.  Stanley,  "this  is  your  mother." 

Maud  took  a  stumbling  step  forward  holding 
close  in  one  arm  her  baby  brother,  while  the  other 
rested  protectingly  on  Dick's  shoulder.  Little 
Mary  and  the  twins  peeped  out  shyly  from  her 
skirts  and  William  and  Nellie  pressed  close  on  the 
other  side. 

She  was  cold  and  stony.  Her  heart  was  bleed 
ing  and  crying  out  in  its  bitter  loneliness, 

"Little  mother!   Oh,  little  mother." 


UNIVER 

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